Self-preservation makes me look past her to the rows of bookshelves lining the room. “What are you doing in here?” I demand.
She startles, pressing a hand to her chest. “Daniil,” she chokes out. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s the point.”
I curl my toes into the Persian rug to stop myself from advancing on her. Instead, I cross my arms and lean against the wall behind me. With no makeup and her hair falling in soft waves around her face, she looks like an angel come to life.
Except she’s no angel. I see the way she’s trying to hide the notebook behind her back. “What’s that?” I gesture to the contents in her hands.
“Nothing,” she responds, her chin held high. “I was just… journaling.”
My eyes dart to the oak writing desk in the corner of the room. It’s my mother’s desk, a memento I took from my childhood home to remind me of her. The mother I lost way too fucking soon. I wonder what she would make of me now, a high-ranking vor who married not for love but for an alliance. Somehow, I know she’d be disappointed in me. Even though it’s common practice in our world, she would have wanted more for me.
She would have expected more.
Yet here I am, standing off with my wife that I treat no better than the hired help. I imagine I’d be a disappointment to my mother in more ways than one.
“Were you going through the desk?” I ask. Truthfully, there’s nothing to find. I never work here. And for that reason, I don’t bother locking the desk drawers. I keep nothing related to the family business in the penthouse. It’s Mafia 101, if our homes ever got raided, the authorities would find nothing of use.
“Of course not,” she fires back all too quickly. “Why would I go through your desk?”
“Care to share what’s in that little notebook of yours?”
“Now why would I do that?” She scowls at me but continues to stand her ground.
Amusement curls my lips. For some reason, I’m enjoying her bravado. But I want to see if I can make her sweat. Pushing off the wall, I take a few steps and close the gap between us, stopping just shy of touching her. Her own arms wrap tightly around her waist, her wary gaze bounces around the room, as if looking for help or a way to escape me, but that’s not possible. Time is suspended as I listen to her quickened breaths, waiting to see how she’ll react.
“I think you’re hiding something from me,” I whisper breezily in her ear.
She looks up to my face and our gazes hold, locked in battle. Most women would stand down at this point, but not Bianca. She meets my fiery look with a scathing one of her own.
“Fine, you want to read about how bored I am, how useless I feel here. Be my guest.” She holds the book up, but I don’t make a move for it, preferring to graze my thumb over the hammering pulse in her neck.
“What are you really looking for?” I ask, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear. A little shiver dances down her spine.
“Nothing, pendejo. You ignore me for weeks and then you accuse me of… of what exactly? Snooping? As if I care to find out about your business. You mean nothing to me.” She pushes hard against my chest, but I don’t move an inch. Instead, I grab both of her hands and hold them captive in mine.
“Why do you hate me so much?” I ask, dipping my head to run the tip of my nose down her neck. She turns her face away from me, but I don't miss the way her breath catches in her throat. “You made it clear you didn’t want this marriage, so I’m giving you space,” I growl. “I haven’t forced myself on you. I haven’t asked anything of you. I let you live your life, just as I’m living mine.”
“Exactly,” she seethes. “We live like strangers. Having nothing to do with each other. Not even sharing a bed.”
A shaky laugh escapes my throat, and I release her hand that still clutches the journal. Reaching down, I twirl a piece of her silky chestnut hair around my finger. “I didn’t realize you needed to be fucked so badly.”
She snorts. “You’re clueless if you think that’s what this is about.”
“So enlighten me.” My thumb traces over her lips. A slow back and forth. Maybe I do it to see how she’ll respond…
A gasp escapes, causing her mouth to open, and those full lips parting reminds me how well she uses them. It’s all I can do not to lean in and taste her. The only thing holding me back is her fierce expression. “I’m not allowed to do anything except shop, work out, and watch TV. I’m dying a slow death over here, and you don’t even know or care.”
Tears spring to her eyes, and my chest squeezes, a strange tightness wrapping around my lungs.Blyad, I’ve gone soft. Since when am I moved by a woman’s tears or bothered by their emotions? Bianca has a hold over me. I’m drawn to her. I crave her. Need her. Even though she’s keeping something from me. I’m sure of it.
I step back from her, dragging a hand through my hair. Abruptly, I turn away, not wanting her to pick up on the conflicting emotions playing out inside me.
“Daniil.” Her voice is scarcely a whisper.
“I do care,” I say tightly.
Light footsteps shuffle towards me, but I flinch before she can make contact. I can’t stand her touch right now. I can’t bear to hear how much I’m disappointing her.